Post by Salem6 on Jan 31, 2004 0:43:53 GMT
This bloke with Tourette’s syndrome walks into the poshest restaurant in
town.
”Where’s the pissing, motherfucking manager, you cocksucking
arsewipe?” He inquires of one of the waiters. The waiter is taken-aback and replies, ”Excuse me sir but could you please refrain from using that sort of
language in here.I will get the manager as soon as I can”.
The manager comes over and the bloke asks,
”Are you the chicken-fucking manager of this bastard place?”
”Yes sir, I am,” replies the manager, “but I would prefer it if you could
refrain from speaking such profanities in this, a private restaurant”.
”Fuck off” replies the bloke “and where’s the fucking piano?”
”Pardon?” says the manager.
”Fucking deaf as well, are we? You snivelling little piece of shit, show me your cunting piano.”
”Ah.” replies the manager, “you’ve come about the pianist job”
and shows the bloke to the piano. “Can you play any blues?”
”Of course I fucking can,” and the bloke proceeds to play the most
inspiring and beautiful sounding honky-tonk blues that the
manager has ever heard. “That’s superb. What’s it called?”
”I tried to shag yer missus on the sofa but the springs kept hurting my dick,”replies the bloke.
The manager is a bit disturbed and asks if the bloke knows any jazz.
The bloke proceeds, playing the most melancholy jazz solo the manager has ever heard.
”Magnificent.” cries the manager “What’s it called?”
”Wanted a wank over the washing machine but I got my balls caught in the
soap drawer”.
The manager is a tad embarrassed and asks if he knows any romantic
ballads.The bloke then plays the most heartbreaking melody the manager has
ever heard,
”And what’s this called?” asks the manager.
”As I fuck you under the stars with the moonlight shining off your hairy
ring-piece,” replies the bloke.
The manager is highly upset by the bloke’s language but offers him the job
on condition that he doesn’t introduce any of his songs
or talk to any of the customers.
This arrangement works well for a couple of months until one night,sitting
opposite him, is the most gorgeous blonde he has ever laid his eyes on.
She’s wearing an almost see through dress,her tits are almost falling out
the top of her black lace bra,and the skimpy little ‘G’ string
she’s wearing is riding up the crack of her arse.She’s sitting there with
her legs slightly open, sucking suggestively on asparagus shoots and the
butter is dripping down her chin. It’s too much for the bloke and he runs
off to the bogs to bash the bishop. He’s tugging away furiously when he hears the manager’s voice.
”Where’s that bastard pianist?”
He just has time to chuck his muck, and in a fluster he runs back to the
piano having not bothered to adjust himself properly, sits down and starts
playing some more tunes. The blonde steps up and walks over to the piano,
leans over and whispers in his ear,
”Do you know your knob and bollocks are hanging out your trousers and
dripping spunk on your shoes?”
The bloke replies “Know it? I fucking wrote it.”
town.
”Where’s the pissing, motherfucking manager, you cocksucking
arsewipe?” He inquires of one of the waiters. The waiter is taken-aback and replies, ”Excuse me sir but could you please refrain from using that sort of
language in here.I will get the manager as soon as I can”.
The manager comes over and the bloke asks,
”Are you the chicken-fucking manager of this bastard place?”
”Yes sir, I am,” replies the manager, “but I would prefer it if you could
refrain from speaking such profanities in this, a private restaurant”.
”Fuck off” replies the bloke “and where’s the fucking piano?”
”Pardon?” says the manager.
”Fucking deaf as well, are we? You snivelling little piece of shit, show me your cunting piano.”
”Ah.” replies the manager, “you’ve come about the pianist job”
and shows the bloke to the piano. “Can you play any blues?”
”Of course I fucking can,” and the bloke proceeds to play the most
inspiring and beautiful sounding honky-tonk blues that the
manager has ever heard. “That’s superb. What’s it called?”
”I tried to shag yer missus on the sofa but the springs kept hurting my dick,”replies the bloke.
The manager is a bit disturbed and asks if the bloke knows any jazz.
The bloke proceeds, playing the most melancholy jazz solo the manager has ever heard.
”Magnificent.” cries the manager “What’s it called?”
”Wanted a wank over the washing machine but I got my balls caught in the
soap drawer”.
The manager is a tad embarrassed and asks if he knows any romantic
ballads.The bloke then plays the most heartbreaking melody the manager has
ever heard,
”And what’s this called?” asks the manager.
”As I fuck you under the stars with the moonlight shining off your hairy
ring-piece,” replies the bloke.
The manager is highly upset by the bloke’s language but offers him the job
on condition that he doesn’t introduce any of his songs
or talk to any of the customers.
This arrangement works well for a couple of months until one night,sitting
opposite him, is the most gorgeous blonde he has ever laid his eyes on.
She’s wearing an almost see through dress,her tits are almost falling out
the top of her black lace bra,and the skimpy little ‘G’ string
she’s wearing is riding up the crack of her arse.She’s sitting there with
her legs slightly open, sucking suggestively on asparagus shoots and the
butter is dripping down her chin. It’s too much for the bloke and he runs
off to the bogs to bash the bishop. He’s tugging away furiously when he hears the manager’s voice.
”Where’s that bastard pianist?”
He just has time to chuck his muck, and in a fluster he runs back to the
piano having not bothered to adjust himself properly, sits down and starts
playing some more tunes. The blonde steps up and walks over to the piano,
leans over and whispers in his ear,
”Do you know your knob and bollocks are hanging out your trousers and
dripping spunk on your shoes?”
The bloke replies “Know it? I fucking wrote it.”